It was the small hours of the morning before there was nothing left but a pile of bones. Marty, who much to his reluctance, had been called out to assist in a pick-up, leaving Taylor alone with Frankie’s bones. They lay there, gleaming up at her in an almost pure white state, almost like they were mocking her. Suppressing a shudder, she walked out of the morgue, leaving them on the table. If she was going to destroy them, she was going to have to find something to do it with. And she knew just where to look.
She headed upstairs, into the lab, and after collecting her badge, headed straight for the weapon reconstruction room, where she knew there was a nice array of weapons for her to choose from. It wasn’t until she was in the room, and she realised that one of the CSIs from another shift she didn’t recognise was in there, that she had any problems.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m pulling in some overtime,” she told him, vaguely indicating to the badge, “I need to get a, um, sledgehammer.”
“What for?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“A new theory,” she shrugged.
“Under whose orders?”
“Mac Taylor’s. Well, he’s my supervisor, but I’m working in the morgue with Marty Pino,” she told him.
The CSI stared at her. “A sledgehammer in a morgue?”
“What can I say,” Taylor shrugged. “It’s his theory, not mine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Taylor Turner.”
The CSI frowned. “Well, I think I’ve seen you around,” he shrugged. “Whatever,” he told her, before returning his attention to the dead pig he was savagely attacking with various knives.
Taylor left quickly before he noticed the fact that she probably looked like she was going to throw up. Only, she got three paces out of the room before he called after her. “Hang on a minute. Whose orders did you say you were working for?”
“Mac Taylor’s,” Taylor told him, knowing instantly that her cover was blown.
“Funny, only I checked the overtime records, and your name isn’t there. Your name isn’t even on the roster at all,” the CSI glared at her. “So why are you here, and what do you want with the sledgehammer?”
“It’s alright, Richard.” Both Taylor and Richard turned and found Stella heading towards them. “Taylor was doing me a favour. I asked her to collect the uh, sledgehammer, for me.”
“Stella? I heard what happened,” said Richard, Taylor and the sledgehammer now forgotten about. “Are you alright?”
Stella smiled thinly. “Yes, thank you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking some time off. Staying with a friend upstate,” Stella explained. “But I wanted to finish something off before I left.”
Richard nodded, “I’m so sorry,” he told her. “If you need anyone to cover your shifts, let me know.” He gave her a smile and left.
“Stella?” Taylor asked, peering curiously at her. “Why are you here?”
Stella bit her lip. “Because the unfinished business is mine, not yours.”
Taylor stared at her. “Are you sure? I didn’t tell you about this because I figured you didn’t need to know,” she told her apologetically.
“Taylor,” said Stella, firmly. “I need to get Frankie out of my life for good. I need to do this.”
Slowly Taylor nodded, and the two headed in silence down to the morgue. When she arrived back at the morgue, Marty still wasn’t back, but neither was anyone else. Stella took the sledgehammer off Taylor and walked quietly to the slab and stared down until she could no longer bare the eternal grin of Frankie’s teeth. With a cry of annoyance, anger, and frustration, Stella raised the sledgehammer above her head, and brought it down on the mocking teeth, pounding at them, until they were no longer mocking her.
With each collision with the bones the hammer made, Taylor could feel herself growing calmer, and if she was feeling calmer, she was hoping Stella was feeling the same way. Finally, and only out of sheer exhaustion, Stella stopped. There wasn’t a single whole bone on the table, or the surrounding floor. For the most part, it lay pounded into a grainy dust, not only covering the surrounding areas of the morgue, but Taylor as well.
Stella stood, staring at the bone, breathing heavily, not even realising that she was shaking.
Wordlessly, Taylor walked over to her and took the hammer off her, allowing it to fall to the ground with a loud bang which echoed around the morgue. As soon as she placed her hand gently on Stella’s shoulder, the older woman turned to her and burst into tears. Still, without saying a word, Taylor wrapped her arms around her and let her cry, just gently stroking her hair.
Finally, Stella’s tears dried up as her sobs grew quieter, and she pulled away. “We should get that sledgehammer back.”
Taylor nodded. She too had realised that it was time she returned the sledgehammer before any unnecessary questions were asked. Taylor picked it up carried it to the elevator, followed closely by Stella, before returning it to the weapons cabinet.
“Are you alright?” Taylor asked her, as she closed the cabinet door.
Stella nodded. “I will be. I am going upstate for a while though. I can’t be in that apartment any longer, and Mac did say I could take some time off.”
“How is Mac?”
“He’s at his, nursing a headache, and trying to remember what happened for the past few hours. Maybe it’s fortunate I can’t fill him in,” Stella said with a small smile.
Taylor nodded. “I think it’s for the best.”
“But it’s over now?”
Taylor nodded again. “Yeah. It’s over.” Taylor looked over at Stella. “Do you want a ride?”
“You don’t have a car,” Stella smiled.
Taylor shrugged, “I could borrow a crime lab truck.”
“I’ll be alright,” Stella told her. “My friend is on her way here anyway.”
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
Stella shook her head. “I think I need to be alone. Sort through my thoughts.”
“If you need anything-”
“Taylor, you have done more than enough. Thank you.”
“Take care, Stella,” Taylor told her, before heading home. She stopped in Danny’s darkened office, before she left however, staring at the roses that her father had sent her.
“I thought you were going home?” Flack asked, appearing behind her.
Taylor slowly turned around and wearily looked up at him. “I had to take care of something first,” she told him quietly, before picking up the roses. Flack eyed them, but said nothing. “Take me home?”
Flack nodded. “Are you alright?”
Taylor took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t want to do it here.”
She headed upstairs, into the lab, and after collecting her badge, headed straight for the weapon reconstruction room, where she knew there was a nice array of weapons for her to choose from. It wasn’t until she was in the room, and she realised that one of the CSIs from another shift she didn’t recognise was in there, that she had any problems.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m pulling in some overtime,” she told him, vaguely indicating to the badge, “I need to get a, um, sledgehammer.”
“What for?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“A new theory,” she shrugged.
“Under whose orders?”
“Mac Taylor’s. Well, he’s my supervisor, but I’m working in the morgue with Marty Pino,” she told him.
The CSI stared at her. “A sledgehammer in a morgue?”
“What can I say,” Taylor shrugged. “It’s his theory, not mine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Taylor Turner.”
The CSI frowned. “Well, I think I’ve seen you around,” he shrugged. “Whatever,” he told her, before returning his attention to the dead pig he was savagely attacking with various knives.
Taylor left quickly before he noticed the fact that she probably looked like she was going to throw up. Only, she got three paces out of the room before he called after her. “Hang on a minute. Whose orders did you say you were working for?”
“Mac Taylor’s,” Taylor told him, knowing instantly that her cover was blown.
“Funny, only I checked the overtime records, and your name isn’t there. Your name isn’t even on the roster at all,” the CSI glared at her. “So why are you here, and what do you want with the sledgehammer?”
“It’s alright, Richard.” Both Taylor and Richard turned and found Stella heading towards them. “Taylor was doing me a favour. I asked her to collect the uh, sledgehammer, for me.”
“Stella? I heard what happened,” said Richard, Taylor and the sledgehammer now forgotten about. “Are you alright?”
Stella smiled thinly. “Yes, thank you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking some time off. Staying with a friend upstate,” Stella explained. “But I wanted to finish something off before I left.”
Richard nodded, “I’m so sorry,” he told her. “If you need anyone to cover your shifts, let me know.” He gave her a smile and left.
“Stella?” Taylor asked, peering curiously at her. “Why are you here?”
Stella bit her lip. “Because the unfinished business is mine, not yours.”
Taylor stared at her. “Are you sure? I didn’t tell you about this because I figured you didn’t need to know,” she told her apologetically.
“Taylor,” said Stella, firmly. “I need to get Frankie out of my life for good. I need to do this.”
Slowly Taylor nodded, and the two headed in silence down to the morgue. When she arrived back at the morgue, Marty still wasn’t back, but neither was anyone else. Stella took the sledgehammer off Taylor and walked quietly to the slab and stared down until she could no longer bare the eternal grin of Frankie’s teeth. With a cry of annoyance, anger, and frustration, Stella raised the sledgehammer above her head, and brought it down on the mocking teeth, pounding at them, until they were no longer mocking her.
With each collision with the bones the hammer made, Taylor could feel herself growing calmer, and if she was feeling calmer, she was hoping Stella was feeling the same way. Finally, and only out of sheer exhaustion, Stella stopped. There wasn’t a single whole bone on the table, or the surrounding floor. For the most part, it lay pounded into a grainy dust, not only covering the surrounding areas of the morgue, but Taylor as well.
Stella stood, staring at the bone, breathing heavily, not even realising that she was shaking.
Wordlessly, Taylor walked over to her and took the hammer off her, allowing it to fall to the ground with a loud bang which echoed around the morgue. As soon as she placed her hand gently on Stella’s shoulder, the older woman turned to her and burst into tears. Still, without saying a word, Taylor wrapped her arms around her and let her cry, just gently stroking her hair.
Finally, Stella’s tears dried up as her sobs grew quieter, and she pulled away. “We should get that sledgehammer back.”
Taylor nodded. She too had realised that it was time she returned the sledgehammer before any unnecessary questions were asked. Taylor picked it up carried it to the elevator, followed closely by Stella, before returning it to the weapons cabinet.
“Are you alright?” Taylor asked her, as she closed the cabinet door.
Stella nodded. “I will be. I am going upstate for a while though. I can’t be in that apartment any longer, and Mac did say I could take some time off.”
“How is Mac?”
“He’s at his, nursing a headache, and trying to remember what happened for the past few hours. Maybe it’s fortunate I can’t fill him in,” Stella said with a small smile.
Taylor nodded. “I think it’s for the best.”
“But it’s over now?”
Taylor nodded again. “Yeah. It’s over.” Taylor looked over at Stella. “Do you want a ride?”
“You don’t have a car,” Stella smiled.
Taylor shrugged, “I could borrow a crime lab truck.”
“I’ll be alright,” Stella told her. “My friend is on her way here anyway.”
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
Stella shook her head. “I think I need to be alone. Sort through my thoughts.”
“If you need anything-”
“Taylor, you have done more than enough. Thank you.”
“Take care, Stella,” Taylor told her, before heading home. She stopped in Danny’s darkened office, before she left however, staring at the roses that her father had sent her.
“I thought you were going home?” Flack asked, appearing behind her.
Taylor slowly turned around and wearily looked up at him. “I had to take care of something first,” she told him quietly, before picking up the roses. Flack eyed them, but said nothing. “Take me home?”
Flack nodded. “Are you alright?”
Taylor took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t want to do it here.”
* * *
Taylor got out of the shower, dried herself off, and dressed into a pair of pyjamas, wrapping a robe tightly around her. She padded into the living room where Flack was dozing on the couch. She leant over the back, placed a kiss on his forehead, and continued back to her bedroom, where her desk was, pulling out the letter from earlier.
“What’s that?” Flack asked her from the doorway.
Taylor walked over. “Later,” she told him, leading him over to the bed.
“Are you alright?” he asked her, peering down at her in the lamplight.
“Just hold me, Don.”
Flack climbed into the bed next to her, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Talk to me, Taylor. Are you still blaming yourself for what happened?”
Taylor shook her head against his chest and took a deep breath. “You remember me telling you about my brother, right?”
“Chris? The diver?”
“The one in prison,” Taylor nodded.
“Yeah,” said Flack, cautiously. “The one who won’t speak to you.”
“He sent me a letter. Through his solicitor.” She pulled it out of the envelope and handed it over.
“Dear Miss Turner,” Flack read. “We have been requested by our client, Christopher Turner, to contact you. Our client expresses his sincerest apologies at his lack of contact, but requests that you come to meet with us, on his behalf, on Wednesday, February 18th, at 10am at our San Diego offices. Enclosed is a plane ticket for your convenience.
We look forward to seeing you soon,
Lyle Bernstein
Bernstein, Mayers and Monk.”
Flack looked down at Taylor. “What does he want?”
Taylor shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know,” Taylor muttered as she rubbed at her temples. “I really don’t want to. I want to just ignore it, ignore him, like he has done me for the past eight years. But I don’t think I can. I’m just scared of finding out what the news is.”
“Look, Taylor, whatever it is you decide, you have my support, alright?”
“Thanks, Don.”
“So,” asked Flack, a while later. “Are you going to tell me why you were at the morgue?”
Taylor nodded, “I will do. But not now. I want to put this day behind me and forget about it.”
“I’m sorry about Valentine’s Day. At least it’s your birthday now.”
“About that,” Taylor sighed. “My birthday isn’t today.”
Flack pulled away from her so he could look at her properly. “What are you talking about?”
“It was yesterday.”
“You were born on Valentine’s Day?” he asked, surprised.
“Call me Cupid, and I will have to kill you,” Taylor muttered.
“Taylor,” Flack frowned. “Why did you tell me?”
“I told everybody it was today,” she shrugged. “Made it easier planning something when I was at college. Besides, it came with even more nicknames.”
“Is there anything else you want to share?” he asked.
Taylor pushed herself away from him and found only concern in his eyes. She nodded. “Thank you.”
“What’s that?” Flack asked her from the doorway.
Taylor walked over. “Later,” she told him, leading him over to the bed.
“Are you alright?” he asked her, peering down at her in the lamplight.
“Just hold me, Don.”
Flack climbed into the bed next to her, and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Talk to me, Taylor. Are you still blaming yourself for what happened?”
Taylor shook her head against his chest and took a deep breath. “You remember me telling you about my brother, right?”
“Chris? The diver?”
“The one in prison,” Taylor nodded.
“Yeah,” said Flack, cautiously. “The one who won’t speak to you.”
“He sent me a letter. Through his solicitor.” She pulled it out of the envelope and handed it over.
“Dear Miss Turner,” Flack read. “We have been requested by our client, Christopher Turner, to contact you. Our client expresses his sincerest apologies at his lack of contact, but requests that you come to meet with us, on his behalf, on Wednesday, February 18th, at 10am at our San Diego offices. Enclosed is a plane ticket for your convenience.
We look forward to seeing you soon,
Lyle Bernstein
Bernstein, Mayers and Monk.”
Flack looked down at Taylor. “What does he want?”
Taylor shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Are you going to go?”
“I don’t know,” Taylor muttered as she rubbed at her temples. “I really don’t want to. I want to just ignore it, ignore him, like he has done me for the past eight years. But I don’t think I can. I’m just scared of finding out what the news is.”
“Look, Taylor, whatever it is you decide, you have my support, alright?”
“Thanks, Don.”
“So,” asked Flack, a while later. “Are you going to tell me why you were at the morgue?”
Taylor nodded, “I will do. But not now. I want to put this day behind me and forget about it.”
“I’m sorry about Valentine’s Day. At least it’s your birthday now.”
“About that,” Taylor sighed. “My birthday isn’t today.”
Flack pulled away from her so he could look at her properly. “What are you talking about?”
“It was yesterday.”
“You were born on Valentine’s Day?” he asked, surprised.
“Call me Cupid, and I will have to kill you,” Taylor muttered.
“Taylor,” Flack frowned. “Why did you tell me?”
“I told everybody it was today,” she shrugged. “Made it easier planning something when I was at college. Besides, it came with even more nicknames.”
“Is there anything else you want to share?” he asked.
Taylor pushed herself away from him and found only concern in his eyes. She nodded. “Thank you.”
Originally posted 10/09/2006